


While You Were Dreaming

by carma19



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Action/Adventure, Angst, Drama, Erotica, Explicit Language, F/F, Femslash, Friendship, Post-Hogwarts, Romance, Second War with Voldemort, The Quidditch Pitch: Leaving Feast, The Quidditch Pitch: The Ladies Room
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-05-03
Updated: 2010-05-03
Packaged: 2018-10-27 05:25:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,201
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10802658
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/carma19/pseuds/carma19
Summary: The night before Hermione leaves for the Horcrux Hunt is nothing like she expects.





	While You Were Dreaming

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Annie, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Quidditch Pitch](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Quidditch_Pitch), which went offline in 2015 when the hosting expired, at a time I was not able to renew it. I contacted Open Doors, hoping to preserve the archive using an old backup, and began importing these works as an Open Doors-approved project in April 2017. Open Doors e-mailed all authors about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact us using the e-mail address on [The Quidditch Pitch collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thequidditchpitch/profile).
> 
> **Author's notes:**
> 
> This fic was written as a gift for the LJ Fandomcommerce HP Gift Exchange.  The prompt was Psychological Disorders.  I chose PTSD.

*

Hermione snapped awake from the feeling of ten strong, clammy fingers squeezing around her neck, crushing her windpipe.  Her eyelids flew open and her vision fought to adjust to the pitch darkness of the bedroom, staring at the shadow that was pinning her down, strangling her mercilessly.  Involuntary survival reflexes kicked in:  her hands wrapped around the thin wrists of her assailant and pulled with all her might to no avail.  She wasn’t strong enough.  Her heart was pounding furiously in her chest, pleading for oxygen.  Hermione’s nails then clawed into the upper arms of her attacker, digging deep enough to draw blood, but that still wasn’t enough to warrant a release.  

Panic coursed through her as she kicked and writhed in pain, her eyes finally adjusting to the darkness to recognize the facial features of her strangler.  “Ginny,” she choked in a barely-emitted sound, tears now spilling from her eyes.  “Please—” It was then Hermione realized that Ginny wasn’t conscious—not really.  Those eyes staring down at her with rage were not those of her best mate’s.  “Wake—up—” Hermione began to feel light-headed, her eyelids falling heavy.  It would be so easy to stop the struggle, to fall asleep…

But then a familiar phrase echoed in her head.  _Are you a witch or not?_ Her arm, now tingling with numbness like the rest of her appendages, stretched over to the bedside table to grasp her wand.  She pointed it at Ginny and wordlessly cast _Stupefy._

With a burst of red sparks from Hermione’s wand, Ginny flew off of the bed and crashed into her wall before she fell into a heap on the floor.  “OI!  What the bloody fuck—?” A wide-awake Ginny scrambled to her knees, pulling at the window curtains as she did so, which opened enough to let enough moonlight shine into the room and illuminate the bed.  Ginny watched as Hermione sat up, pale as a ghoul, trembling and clutching at her neck as she fought to catch her breath.  

Hermione’s eyes were on Ginny, and she still had a firm grip on her wand.  “Are you all right?” Hermione rasped, her voice incredibly scratchy.

With a harsh swallow, Ginny looked down to her hands and froze.  There was blood beneath most of her fingernails.  “Am I all right?”  Ginny’s jaw dropped as she moved her arms, feeling the sting of Hermione’s desperate scratches.  “Am _I_ all right?”  

After a few moments, Hermione caught her breath.  The look of sheer terror on Ginny’s face made Hermione’s heart ache.  “Gin, it was just a nightmare.  Honestly, I’m fine.” 

Thunder cracked outside of the Burrow as the torrential rainstorm outside mirrored the one going on inside Ginny.  She blinked back tears that threatened to fall.  “What have I done?”  

Hermione swung her legs over the side of the bed, reaching out for her.  “I’m all right, I promise.  Let’s talk about this.”  She was shaky on her bare feet as she slowly walked towards Ginny.

Hermione’s empathy appeared to have only made Ginny feel worse.  Ginny nearly stumbled over her oversized pajama bottoms as she got to her feet, frantic for an escape; there was no way to leave through the house without waking someone.  She shook her head and opened the window, gasping as the wind blew the hard rain into the room.  “I can’t, Hermione.  Stay away.  I’m dangerous,” she sobbed, and just before she jumped out of her window, she grabbed her Comet.

“Ginny—no!” Hermione tried to yell, but her throat was still sore and her voice was nearly gone.  She ran over and leaned out of the window, watching as Ginny mounted her broom midair mere meters from the ground and shot off toward the forest.

Hermione could’ve murdered Ginny for the anxiety attack that had just nearly killed her.  _Jumping out of a window… is she completely mental?_  And did she honestly think Hermione wasn’t going to go after her?  With a heavy sigh, Hermione flicked on Ginny’s bedside lamp and quickly tossed a few things into her satchel.   She fastened her black cloak over her white sleeveless nightgown, pulling the hood over her head.  After she slipped on a pair of Ginny’s old trainers because she couldn’t find her own, Hermione slung her satchel over her shoulder and took her wand, Disapparating to the edge of the forest where she’d last saw Ginny.  

Rain pelted against the thick leaves overhead, which provided her little relief from the precipitation so her cloak was soon drenched.  Hermione raised her wand in the air.   _“Point me!”_ She followed the spell and walked deeper into the forest, vigilant for any creatures—or Merlin forbid, Death Eaters—lurking about.  Hermione suddenly felt quite foolish for roaming through a forest in the middle of the night, but for some inexplicable reason Ginny had that effect on her.  Poor judgment was not becoming on Hermione.

Before Hermione could ponder Ginny’s affect on her any further, her tracking spell fizzled out and she spotted Ginny’s broom at the base of a large oak tree.  She looked around for more clues and she heard something above her head.  Looking up, Hermione’s jaw dropped when she saw a large treehouse nestled securely in the oak’s branches.  It was complete with a door, curtained windows, a chimney, and a porch-like platform wrapped around the structure, roped off for safety. 

Hermione walked around the giant tree trunk, looking for the ladder.  She couldn’t find one.  It seemed as though she would have to climb.  Hermione groaned and pocketed her wand, gripping one of the dozens of thick branches leading up to the treehouse as she muttered to herself, “Good Godric Gryffindor—I know it’s not common for one of your house students to be afraid of heights, but I’d greatly appreciate if I could channel some of your courage right now.”  Hermione climbed and climbed and didn’t look down.  Despite the branches being slick from the storm, the rain and wind pelting her as she climbed, and her feet sliding inside Ginny’s large trainers, she finally made it to the top.  

Hermione flung open the door and shut it behind her, out of breath for an entirely different reason this time, and she instantly spotted Ginny.  She was huddled in the corner, shivering, hugging her knees, and rocking back and forth.  Ginny had set a bluebell fire in the fireplace, which Hermione noted was quite brilliant due to the fact that those flames are inflammable—which is good considering they’re in a tree.  Instead of warmth, the flame provided dim light.  

“I said to stay away from me, Hermione.  I’m... I’m dangerous,” Ginny repeated, not even looking up.  Her hair, like her maroon t-shirt and pajama bottoms, was completely soaked.

Hermione sighed and tossed her cloak aside, making quick wand work to transfigure wet leaves into glowing yellow orbs that swirled slowly around the room, emitting heat.  She then set her wand on the table by the door, pulling one of the blankets from her satchel.  “Dangerous on the Quidditch pitch, for certain.  Dangerous with a Bat-Bogey Hex, allegedly—you’ve never been up against my _Protego_.”  Hermione was pleased that her voice was only slightly scratchy now, and she went against Ginny’s orders and crossed the room, fell to her knees, and held out a blanket. 

“It’s not b-bloody funny.”  Ginny reluctantly took the blanket and hugged it around her body, willing her teeth to stop chattering.  Finally she looked up with red eyes and splotchy cheeks.  “I nearly killed you with my bare hands,” she stated slowly, as if Hermione didn’t understand what had happened.

Hermione, though, had merely shrugged it off, sitting on the floor a foot away from Ginny, yanking off the sopping wet trainers so her bare feet could dry.  She then got up and looked around, giving Ginny time to compose herself as she knew her best mate did not like “crying like a fucking pansy” in front of people, even her.  Instead, Hermione marveled at the treehouse itself.  There was a mantle over the fireplace with pictures—sketches of sorts, drawn with crayons, and similar drawings framed on the walls.  The old kitchen set in the corner was complete with place settings and a chipped tea set.  In the other corner there was a rack full of quaffles, bludgers, deactivated snitches, bats, and other equipment, along with an easel that seemed to detail Quidditch strategies.  Finally, in front of the fireplace, there was plum-colored couch with large cushions and a patterned carpet set over the wood floor in front of it.  “You never told me you had a treehouse.  It’s charming.” 

Ginny hesitated before answering, still staring at the floor.  “Dad, Bill, and Charlie built it over a decade ago.  It was s’posed to be for the rest of us for Christmas, but I sort’ve... took over and claimed it as F-Fort Ginevra.  Since I was six, I spent all my free time here.  Dad brought home those Muggle walker-talker things so Mum could check in on me and call me in for supper, but she never used ‘em since her voice was loud enough without any Muggle contraptions.”  

“And I suppose you never thought to give Fort Ginevra a proper ladder?”  Hermione sat on the couch, finally looking over at Ginny and raising a brow.  

“No b-bleeding ponces allowed in Fort Ginevra.  You’ve got to climb.”  Ginny hugged her knees tighter.

Hermione watched as Ginny continued to tremble, her heating orbs floating about the room clearly not having enough of an effect.  “Gin, you’re going to be ill if you keep those damp clothes on, and your mum’ll have a fit if you come down with a fever the night before your brother’s wedding.  Come here, I brought you a change.”  Hermione reached down to ruffle through the satchel, pulling a fresh set of pajamas and setting it on the couch beside her. 

Ginny grumbled under her breath in protest but stood up anyway.  She tossed the blanket to Hermione and carelessly stripped down to her knickers, reaching out for the dry clothes.

“Thank you,” Hermione breathed, absentmindedly looking over as she handed Ginny the t-shirt.  Hermione’s gaze fell to admire the redhead’s near-naked body, marveling at its physique.  With a half-gasp, she snapped her attention back toward the satchel, pretending to look for something.  Her face grew incredibly warm, as did the rest of her body.  She wasn’t quite sure why, but this had been happening more frequently since she arrived at the Burrow this summer. 

Ginny eyed Hermione suspiciously but thought nothing of it; Hermione was always rummaging through her bag for something or other.  “There, all dry.”  

Hermione looked back up and patted the couch next to her.

“I’m fine here.” Ginny took a step back and crossed her arms over her chest. 

“For Merlin’s sake, Ginny, you’re not going to hurt me.  Come here.”  She sensed the tension between them and briefly wondered if it was only from the semi-conscious attack that had happened earlier.  “Please?  Talk to me.”  

Ginny groaned in defeat and sat on the couch, tucking her legs beneath her.   “Swear you won’t tell anyone?  Especially Ron and Harry—and _especially_ my parents.  I don’t want anyone getting their knickers in a twist just ‘cause I’ve been having ruddy nightmares.” 

Hermione scooted closer and tossed half of the blanket over Ginny’s lap, nodding with encouragement.

Ginny stared at the bluebell fire for a short while before she spoke.  “I was fine.  I really was.  It’s been five bloody years since Tom fucking Riddle and that piece of shite diary and the Chamber of Secrets, and I’ve barely thought on it since…”

Hermione slipped her hand into Ginny’s beneath the blanket and gave her a supportive squeeze.

“But since last year, with the Half-Blood Prince rubbish and Harry’s stories of Tom from Dumbledore’s memories—it’s all he talked about when we were alone.  He told me so much about Tom’s past, and it’s as if—everything just—rushed back to me.”  Ginny paused for a moment and finally looked over to Hermione.

Hermione’s eyes were steady on Ginny’s profile the entire time, soft and careful.  “You never had time to really process it all—the Chamber of Secrets, being possessed.  I’ve been doing research on—“ _Horcruxes.  Did Harry go as far as to tell her about that?  No, it isn’t the time to discuss or explain Horcruxes._   “On powerful dark magic items, and being in the presence of one for an extended period of time… the impact, well, it’s certainly having an effect on you, even now.”  

Ginny watched as Hermione shifted on the couch, her hair, even more bushy than usual due to the thick air, swinging back behind her shoulder to reveal her neck.  Ginny’s face fell and she raised a trembling hand to tuck under Hermione’s chin, tipping it upward to expose her neck.  “Fuck, you’re completely bruised.”  Her voice faltered again as she stared at Hermione’s neck, the evidence of her brutal attack.  “I’m sorry.” 

“I’ve told you, I’m fine,” Hermione said dismissively, reaching up to push Ginny’s hand away.  “I’ll brew a batch of anti-bruising potion in the morning so nobody will ask questions.”

But Ginny’s hand returned, and her fingertips—rough from years of Quidditch—gently traced over the side of Hermione’s neck.  “I said I’m sorry, Hermione.  I’m so, so sorry.” 

“It wasn’t your fault.  It was a nightmare—“ Hermione insisted, though this time she stayed very still, watching as Ginny’s eyes changed again—a familiar darkness welled in her pupils that caused Hermione’s breath to hitch and pulse to quicken.

“It was my fault.  I want to make it up to you.”  Ginny’s voice was softer now, deeper.  “I want to…” and without hesitation, Ginny leaned forward, her lips replaced her fingers and barely grazed over the bruises.

Hermione stayed completely still, trusting Ginny with all of her heart.  She briefly wondered if Ginny could feel her pulse point hammering against those lips—which were moving slowly and tenderly against her neck.  “Gin—you don’t have to—“ 

“I want to,” she countered, her voice growing even deeper.  Ginny’s lips dragged to the other side of Hermione’s neck, granting her right side just as much attention as her left. “D’you want me to?”

Hermione couldn’t fathom why Ginny wanted to do this, but as the seconds passed, her ever-charged brain began to shut down and her basic senses took over.  The rain and thunder seemed to crash down on the roof even louder now, as the golden orbs floating around the room grew hazy.  She could feel Ginny’s mouth on her neck and her skin growing warmer.  “Yes, I—” she whispered, and before she could say another word, Ginny kissed her.

Hermione’s gasp was muted by Ginny’s mouth moving hungrily against her own.  No, it wouldn’t be like Ginny to start off shy and hesitant, would it?  Perhaps that’s why a dull, pulsing ache radiated throughout her limbs—a reaction she’d never felt from a mere kiss before.  This was passion, and Hermione had enough cognitive processing left to realize that Ginny was the most passionate person she knew.  Hermione’s hands reached up to thread through Ginny’s still-damp hair, urging her to continue.  

Ginny, now seemingly encouraged by Hermione’s reaction, parted her lips against the bruising kiss and snaked her tongue between Hermione’s, deepening the kiss even more.  The redhead growled as Hermione complied and mirrored her, their tongues dancing and dueling as both of them frantically gasped for oxygen through their noses. 

A particularly loud crack of thunder caused Hermione to jump, breaking the kiss, but her fingers tightened around Ginny’s locks.  Her eyes opened and she watched Ginny’s eyes do the same, pupils still glassy with lust.  Their chests were heaving as they fought to catch their breath, and Hermione felt a surge of panic rush through her.  “Gin, we should—we should probably—talk—“ 

“Shut _up_ , Hermione,” Ginny breathed, lunging forward to knock Hermione backward and pin her to the couch with her own bodyweight, kissing her just as deeply as before.  

Hermione groaned against Ginny’s mouth, her eyes slammed shut, and she completely forgot what she was going to say.   _Thank Merlin_.  This snog was even more heated than the first round, and as minutes passed Hermione felt all anxiety and control slipping away.  There was no nightmare earlier—no tomorrow—just right now, and that was all that mattered.  Growing bolder, her hands released Ginny’s hair and reached around her waist, urging Ginny’s full weight on top of her, as they slipped beneath the t-shirt to slide against the bare, smooth skin of Ginny’s lower back.  

Ginny shuddered at the contact and Hermione briefly wondered if her hands were too cold, but how could that be, since her entire body was on fire?  Ginny shifted her weight to one side, and Hermione wondered if she shifted due to discomfort, but as she broke the kiss to state her concern, she felt Ginny’s long fingers slide over one of her breasts.  Hermione’s lips fell apart with a sigh as the contact caused her back to arch against Ginny’s palm, now kneading her sensitive flesh over her thin nightdress. 

Hermione could feel Ginny’s fingertips close around her nipple, its peak already stiffened with arousal.  One of Hermione’s hands slipped up behind Ginny’s neck, pulling her mouth down to reconnect with her own in another searing kiss.  As Ginny’s attention switched to her other breast, Hermione felt a surging sensation beginning to pool toward the pit of her stomach.  

Inhibition completely gone, Hermione’s hand slid beneath Ginny’s t-shirt past her very toned abdomen; she felt the weight of her bare chest in her hand as she touched and teased in return.  This seemed to snap the remaining restraint within Ginny as well, as simultaneously her hand clutched around Hermione’s throat, her mouth attacking the side of her neck with kisses.

A strangled cry escaped from Hermione—the cuts and bruises on her neck were still so raw, the shock of pain snapped through the arousal.  She opened her eyes to see Ginny staring down at her, blinking in shock as if regret was beginning to settle.  

Hermione watched as Ginny released Hermione’s neck and stared at her own trembling hand, as if it had taken on a life of its own to further injure her best mate.  “I didn’t mean to—“

Hermione reached up to snatch at Ginny’s wrist, holding it tight enough to stop the trembling.  “I said I’m fine,” she rasped, her voice thick not from strangulation, but from arousal.  “Now finish what you started or I’ll hex you again.”  Hermione lifted her head and pressed her mouth against Ginny’s, while she kept a firm grip on Ginny’s wrist and led that freckled hand to slide down her stomach, settling between her legs.

Ginny’s body tensed as her fingers, guided by Hermione’s urgency, brushed against damp cotton knickers.  “Fuck, Hermione,” Ginny moaned against Hermione’s lips.  “You’re sopping.”  

Hermione’s hips involuntarily bucked against Ginny’s hand, and she shifted so that Ginny could lie beside her on the couch.  Hermione wasted no time in returning the favor, reaching between their bodies to slip her hand between Ginny’s thighs.  “I’m not the only one,” she replied breathily. 

After a fair bit of teasing, Ginny’s fingers slipped beneath the elastic band of Hermione’s knickers, bypassing the curly thatch and settling against her enflamed, aroused lips, parting them with her middle finger.  Ginny instantly located her clit and gently massaged it, not putting too much pressure there just yet.  

“Oh, Merlin’s…” Hermione trailed off with a groan, biting her lower lip as Ginny rubbed her a bit harder. 

“Pants?” Ginny teased, busy with her fingers but still breathily trailing her lips across Hermione’s jaw.

“Yes,” Hermione rasped.  “ _Merlin’s pants_ ,” she nodded, her trembling hand sliding inside Ginny’s knickers as well, mimicking Ginny’s fingers’ motions.  She felt Ginny growing wetter by the minute, certain that she was encountering a similar situation between her legs.  

As both witches touched and teased, stroked and slid against each other, they grew much more vocal against the background noise of that thunderstorm, which continued raging around them.  Hermione came first, her free hand clutching Ginny’s shoulder as she cried out.  “Ginny—oh, Gods, right there— _yes_ …” 

Hermione’s blissful convulsions sent Ginny flying over the edge just moments later.  “ _Fuck,_ Hermione—“ she gritted, hips bucking wildly as she caught Hermione’s lips in a deep kiss.  Hermione crashed then, her head falling to the crook of Ginny’s neck, hiding her flushed face from view as she came down from that exhilarating high.

And then time seemed to stop altogether for Hermione as she lie there with her limbs entangled with Ginny’s, her body sweaty and still shaky from the aftershocks of her orgasm.  She fought for control of her breath, and she could hear a panting Ginny attempting that same feat.  Hermione couldn’t help but marvel at their situation, how this came about, and how she didn’t really care.  Her body was as relaxed as it had ever been, and she reluctantly admitted to herself that she’d never felt that way with any bloke she’d snogged… not that there had been many.  A goofy grin tugged at the corners of Hermione’s mouth, and she felt Ginny’s heart rate had returned to normal.  “Hey, Gin?”  She whispered, lifting her head and opening her eyes.

Hermione stared down at a sound asleep Ginny.  She brought her hand to her mouth to muffle a laugh at the smug grin that was plastered on Ginny’s sleeping expression.

Hermione reached over the edge of the couch for the blanket and covered them both, placed a sweet kiss on Ginny’s cheek, and settled back against her body.  “Sleep well, Ginevra Weasley.” 

*

Birds chirping outside of the treehouse along with violently bright sunlight filtering through the windows and cracks of the walls caused Ginny to stir, and she stretched her lanky limbs before opening her eyes, blinking in confusion.  “What the—“ and then images of last night flashed before her eyes.  “’Ermione?” She muttered, her voice still full of sleep as she sat up, looking around.  The bushy-haired brunette wasn’t there.

Panic flooded Ginny’s system as thoughts raced through her mind.   _She’s ashamed. She’s embarrassed.  She hated it.  She hated me **.**   She’ll never forgive me.  Our friendship is down the toilet_.  Ginny raked a hand through her matted hair and then she spotted the sheet of parchment on the far end of the couch, resting on the arm.

_Dear Ginny,_

_I’m a coward for leaving before you wake up, but I’m not sure I can properly express everything I want to say in person.  I know Harry told you that we’re not going back to Hogwarts.  We’re leaving today, just after the wedding.  I didn’t know how to tell you because I’m dreadful at goodbyes.  And after last night…  You understand, don’t you?_

_Congratulations!  For once you’ve rendered me inarticulate, even in a letter.  I’m not sure what it all means… it’s all so overwhelming, isn’t it?  I don’t regret it.  Not one moment.  I’ve never felt so alive, so connected to someone._

_I’m going to have everything packed and out of your room when you return to the house.  I’ll likely be running around helping your frantic mother before the guests arrive, checking on Harry, making last minute adjustments to our itinerary.  During the wedding, I’ll watch the ceremony.  I’ll mingle with your extended family and dance with Ron, but I can’t talk to you.  To be honest, I’m afraid to even look at you.  I’m afraid it will be too much and I’ll want to stay, and Harry needs me the most._

_I’m going to try to be optimistic here and tell you that I’m not saying goodbye because I’ll be back.  Perhaps by Christmas, if all goes according to plan, but definitely no later than February._

_I’m leaving you the master galleon for the D.A. You’ll find it in the pocket of your Hogwarts robe.  The Protean Charm will allow you to call meetings as necessary.  Perhaps you could teach everyone your specialty hex (you know the one).  I have no doubt you’ll be brilliant.  But Ginny, please be careful._

_Until winter,_

_-Hermione_

_P.S.  I’m leaving instructions on how to brew a Dreamless Sleep Potion.  One batch should last an entire month.  Sleep peacefully for both of us, would you?  xx_

Ginny read the letter through three times before clutching it to her chest.  She was filled with the sparks of deep emotions that she couldn’t quite process yet: fear, affection, longing, hope.  She stood, wrapping the blanket around her shoulders as she exited the treehouse and climbed down one-handed, holding tight to that letter.  Ginny settled her broomstick over her shoulder and walked barefoot through the forest, and when she reached the clearing, she took in the image before her.  The sun was shining fiercely bright over the Burrow, and as she approached her home she held her head high, ready to face an uncertain future.  Hope was what she’d cling to.


End file.
